


Day 4- Hematemesis

by Broken_Clover



Series: Goretober 2018 [4]
Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Accidental overdose, Blood, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drug Abuse, Gen, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Some habits are really goddamn hard to kick.





	Day 4- Hematemesis

“Answer? Answer?” A weak, croaking voice echoed off of the bathroom tile. “A-An, p-please, I- ugh…”

Chipp slumped back over the side of the bathtub as a disgusting wet noise drowned out his cries. A stream of black-red something splattered against the bottom as he lurched forward, adding to the mess that was already there.

Shuddering in disgust, he spat out whatever blood and acid was still lingering in his mouth. It wasn’t a hangover. This definitely wasn’t a hangover. It was something much, much worse.

Of course this just had to have happened, as soon as they had been given a break. The most recent convention with Zepp had just finished, and things looked promising for the relationship between their two nations. He and Answer had taken a hotel room and opted to stay the night instead of immediately heading back home. It wasn’t much, just a little escape from the stress that they’d both been under for what felt like far too long.

He just _had_ to bring those damn pills, didn’t he?

Chipp wasn’t able to think for too long, as another twist of nausea in his stomach made him lean back over the bathtub and throw up again. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he hadn’t been able to make it to the toilet, and this was the best that he was able to manage. He had no idea how long it had been by that point. As soon as he almost felt well enough to scrub his face off and drag himself back to bed, it started all over again.

“An…An? I-I need-”

He stopped himself to think. As shitty as he felt and as comforting as it would be to have Answer with him, he had to remind himself that he was supposed to be the one in charge. He wasn’t supposed to show weakness. What kind of president would do that?

…Alright, to be fair, he was already crying a little. He didn’t like crying, but it was more of a reflex response to the stench of blood-iron and stomach acid mixing together and the nausea still twisting around inside of him. He didn’t consider it particularly embarrassing, considering how he was basically too miserable, tired, and sore to retain much of a sense of pride at that point.

Still, he didn’t need to call Answer. He could handle this on his own.

The cream-white tiles felt cool on fevered skin as he slumped against the far wall. That much was soothing, if only a little bit. Chipp didn’t even realize that he was dozing off until he snapped awake to the familiar muscle spasms.

“Ghh…ow…”

“…Boss?”

In a panic, Chipp turned around and pressed his back to the side of the tub. To his eternal dismay, Answer was standing in the open door, watching with concern through squinting, sleepy eyes. It seemed that he hadn’t managed to grab his glasses on the way.

“Boss?” The secretary asked again, tilting his head. “It’s two-twenty-six in the morning, why are you up?”

“O-oh, hey, An!” Chipp offered a very fake smile and raised a hand. “Didn’t mean to wake you up-”

“What’s that smell?”

Chipp would have gone pale, if he hadn’t already. “Eh? W-what smell, are you sure you’re not just-”

Wordlessly, but with a remarkable amount of intimidation that someone who was currently wearing pajamas probably should not have had, Answer walked up to his hunched-over superior and looked over into the tub. His eyes immediately snapped open, with all traces of sleepiness gone as he directed his gaze to Chipp.

“I, um…”

“How long have you been in here?” The question was clipped and concise.

“I dunno…a while.”

Answer went quiet for a good minute. “Did you take those pills again?”

“…Yes. I-I was stressed out again, I thought it would-”

“How many did you take?”

No point in being secretive at that point. “Se…ven?”

The secretary made a little noise that was hard to assign an emotion. Based on the way that he immediately summoned his communicator, though, Chipp knew that he had fucked up. Badly.

“An, An, it’s fine, I’m okay- you don’t have to-”

“Boss, you’re vomiting blood. That most assuredly is _not_ okay.” Answer turned back to the com. “Hopefully I can find an on-call clinic that’s still open, I’ll see if they can send someone. Does your body hurt? Do you feel lightheaded?”

Chipp realized that he was far beyond backing out of this. “Yes.”

Answer didn’t respond at all to that, merely reaching down to press a hand to his cheek. He almost immediately stiffened back up, and started talking into the communicator.

“Hello, operator? Can you direct me to the nearest open medical facility?…Yes, of course. My superior seems to have been vomiting blood for an unknown amount of time, and he appears unusually pale and feverish…absolutely, that’s no trouble at all. I’m wondering if you can have them send somebody to our location? He certainly doesn’t appear capable of moving very much right now. Alright, wonderful. I can give you the street address…”

With a pathetic whimper, Chipp turned and hunched back over the blood-stained bathtub. As he felt the nausea rising again, he silently wished that he could have been anywhere else but there.

For sleeping pills, they sure were doing a good job of keeping him up.


End file.
